


good morning (from me to you)

by elisela



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek Hale & Allison Argent - Freeform, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Pilot Stiles Stilinski, So much fluff you can see it from 35000 feet, Teacher Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28992996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: The schedule is hard on them both; Stiles is usually around for three days, gone four, but the messages help keep them connected. He still can’t believe sometimes that the guy who was meant to be a one night stand that he swiped right on—and who technically still lives halfway across the country from him—has turned into someone Derek thinks he can’t live without.Which, unfortunately, is the problem.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 22
Kudos: 290
Collections: A Very Sterek Winter 2021





	good morning (from me to you)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spinningincircles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/gifts).



> For A Very Sterek Winter Day 3: Ice/Snow
> 
> Lauren sent me [this tiktok](https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMJwVjgSr/) and then said "pilot!stiles sending these to derek", knowing it would activate whatever curse she had placed on me that makes me do her bidding. I love her.

_Whatever he says on the video comes out as the equivalent of keyboard smashing; he’s got his head against a table in whatever crew room he’s in, coat pulled mostly over his head, eyes closed. The camera shakes as he fumbles with his phone, and then he blinks a few times and gives the screen a sleepy smile._

_“Morning,” he croaks out, and clears his throat, “from some godforsaken town in Illinois—“_

_“Wisconsin,” Jackson corrects._

_He blinks again. “Appleton. Yeah. Uh. Good morning. We got ice-delayed last night so we just got in and I have about 45 until show time so I’m just gonna sleep here. Love you, have a good day at work.”_

The video clicks off and Derek watches it again before he sends back a text— _love you too_ —and gets out of bed, ready to start his day. 

They text throughout the day—Derek sends messages at his lunch and plan time, snaps pictures of himself or his work and feels silly about it, but likes the flood of responses it gets him when Stiles is back on the ground, pictures of his food-court meals and paperwork, the books he swiped from lost and found and stories about passengers he’d heard from the flight attendants. 

The schedule is hard on them both; Stiles is usually around for three days, gone four, but the messages help keep them connected. It’d been a struggle for him at first, to let go of the uneasiness he felt about constantly taking and sending pictures and texts about nothing, but it’s much better than four days of silence and worth it for the Stiles’ reaction. He still can’t believe sometimes that the guy who was meant to be a one night stand that he swiped right on—and who technically still lives halfway across the country from him—has turned into someone Derek thinks he can’t live without. 

Which, unfortunately, is the problem. 

_“Good morning from Grand Rapids, it’s a bone-chilling negative eighty this morning and I might not have toes the next time I see you but it’s not like I needed those anyway!” Stiles’ smile is wide as he looks into the camera, walking across the tarmac and taking a moment to show off the plane behind him. His gaze shifts to something just past his phone and he raises his eyebrows and gives a quick wave before he focuses back on the camera._

_“I’m back-to-back today but we end in Denver and if there are no issues I should be able to catch a flight out of there tonight and be on your doorstep before midnight. I’ll let you know. Love you.”_

Derek had always been picky about his one-night stands. It’s not something he had done frequently; he preferred meaningful relationships and the comforts that come with them, but a string of particularly bad ones had left him apprehensive and hesitant. And there was only so much to do when all your friends are paired up, so as much as Derek had never been a fan of spending his summer break stuck in conferences, at least it gave him something to spend his time on. Isaac had joined him in San Diego, Boyd had come along to Philadelphia, and Allison had called him the night she was supposed to meet him in Minneapolis and said, “so I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it,” and then sent him a picture of her foot in a cast.

He’d gone anyway, because it was already paid for and it would get him the two credits he needs to move up on the pay scale, and after two nights of sitting in the hotel bar trading stories about terrible administration he’d felt an itch under his skin that jerking off in the hotel shower couldn’t soothe. He reinstalled Tinder on his phone, changed his bio to _only in town tonight_ , and had started swiping.

He’d noticed Stiles’ hands first, a cup of iced coffee in his photo being held by long, thin fingers—then the open tilt of a lean neck, and a wide, bright smile. 

He stopped swiping after that. 

Stiles wasn’t the first one to message him, but as soon as he did, Derek dropped the name of his hotel and room number in response. Stiles was at his door twenty-six minutes later, and three hours after that he slid off the bed, put Derek’s shirt on, and suggested they go get burgers. It was just after two in the morning and Derek had a flight out at eight, but he’d grabbed another shirt from his bag, pulled on his jacket, and let Stiles lead the way.

_“Hey sleepyhead, good morning from Tallahassee, which for your information gets snow once every seventeen years on average! Tell that one to your kids, I’m sure they’ll be fascinated.”_

_The video scans the horizon, palm trees black against the rising sun and pink-orange sky. “Today’s pretty easy for me, we’re just hopping up the coast, three flights and then I’m right back here for the night. Pretty sure my last layover coincides with your lunch so I’ll call you then but if you gotta get shit done or wanna talk with your team I get it. Make some time for me tonight, I miss your face. Love you.”_

He hadn’t gotten Stiles’ number. They’d gotten burgers and had talked for too long sitting next to each other in a booth at a Denny’s near the hotel; Stiles had followed him back up to his room afterwards, gave him a sloppy blow job in the shower after Derek packed his suitcase, and had kissed him goodbye. Derek slept on the flight home, spent four days moping at Allison’s house, and decided to move on. 

And then he made the life-changing decision to get drunk and leave his phone unlocked in her presence. Allison, unable to mix alcohol with her pain medication, pushed drink after drink at him until he was sprawled out on the couch with his head in her lap, room spinning every time he opened his eyes.

“Wouldn’t have worked anyway,” Derek had mumbled, trying to lay as still as he could. “But I think it could have been something.”

He woke up to Tinder back on the homescreen of his phone, fifteen new matches, his own phone number written into his and Stiles’ brief message history, and a missed call from an unknown number. 

_“Oklahoma where I am going to go sit down on a plane! Okay, Jackson told me that was bad, sorry I had to subject you to my singing at the crack of dawn. Don’t break up with me. You just get things stuck in your head when flight attendants won’t stop singing the same damn song over and over and then unfortunate things happen.”_

_Stiles looks down and curses, rolling suitcase dropping out of his hand before he bends down and grabs the handle again, camera shaking. “I woke up thinking I was going to see you today and then I remembered I’m heading to Beacon Hills and ugh. It makes me feel like an asshole because I haven’t seen my dad in awhile, but I’m gonna miss you. I’ll call you so often you’ll get sick of me though, I swear, and we can watch a movie together later. Promise I’ll see you soon. Love you.”_

The first thing Stiles had told him was that he couldn’t promise him anything. His airline didn’t fly to the west coast, he wasn’t interested in looking for a new job, and he couldn’t do anything about his schedule—but he could fly out to Seattle occasionally, if Derek was interested, or, since it was still summer and Derek wasn’t working, he could fly out to see him in Indianapolis. 

Derek, maintaining that drunken confessions to Allison meant nothing except that she’d clearly made him watch too many Hallmark movies, had told Stiles that he wasn’t looking for a relationship anyway, and that a semi-regular friends-with-benefits situation was just fine with him. He’d done that plenty over the years and it worked out just fine, so he’d made plans to see Stiles two weeks from then and hung up the phone, figuring that was it.

And then the text messages started. Silly facts about places Stiles was flying, rambling messages about himself and his friends, and endless questions about Derek. He sent pictures occasionally, captioned with what he thought were funny jokes about cockpits and joysticks, and alternately bullied or begged Derek to download apps so they could play games together, claiming that boredom was making him dumber and he needed to stay sharp.

Two weeks and 2,539 text messages later, Stiles walked through his front door, threw his duffle bag into the corner of Derek’s bedroom, and Derek realized he had made a huge mistake by thinking he could manage only being friends, even if there were benefits involved.

_“Buenos Días desde Monterrey! That’s all the Spanish I know, sorry dude, three years in high school and I don’t even know how to order food. Should probably learn, technically I told them I was bilingual_ — _well, I implied I was bilingual in my interview. Took a risk, you know. Whatever, I knew more back then.”_

_He adjusts his tie as he walks, tilting his neck side to side as he dodges a baggage cart._

_“Two flights today, heading to Miami here in about an hour and then to Bangor, but I gotta deadhead to fucking Savannah from there so I’ll be on duty like all fucking day. Wish I could talk to you today but my layovers are short and I know you’ve got a busy day, so good luck at your first basketball game, Coach Hale. Send me some videos, especially if you’re wearing those sexy short shorts. And if you’re not, just let me think you are. Gotta jet. I love you.”_

Derek made it four months. Four months of talking to Stiles daily, four months of his heart jumping in his chest whenever he heard a text notification, four months of forcing himself not to respond too quickly or call too often, four months of waiting for weeks to spend thirty-six hours in bed with Stiles before repeating the cycle all over again.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he had said when Stiles proposed a visit just before Christmas. The crash he felt after each of Stiles’ visits was getting too difficult to manage, too hard to push through knowing that nothing was going to change. “I think—I think I should go, actually. I think this has run its course.”

“Derek—”

He’d told him to be safe and hung up, turned his phone off and drove to Allison’s, where she’d taken one look at him and kicked her boyfriend out for the night, opened the wine, and ordered in from his favorite Greek restaurant. 

Four days later, he got home from work to find Stiles sitting on his front porch.

_“Fuck it’s cold as fucking fuck here, this is why I never bid on Canadian routes.” The camera pans around the tarmac, Air Canada jets in the background and a maple leaf flag patch sewn onto the jacket of a crew member nearby._

_“Good morning, babe, I wish that I had woke up to your face instead of Jackson pushing me off the bed because he got our call time wrong, the asshole. I actually bid on this route because there’s only one flight today, just moving the plane back to Rapid City and then I’m gonna hop on a flight to come see you. Hopefully be in by dinner but no guarantees, I’ll text when I find a free seat. I want dumplings for dinner, pick something else at your own peril. Love you.”_

“So the thing is,” Stiles had said, heel of his foot tapping restlessly against the front step, “I’m kind of in love with you. And I think, maybe, you might feel the same?”

_Stiles’ eyes are closed as he leans against the wall of the crew room, voice quiet, face drawn tight. “Good morning to you, bad morning for me, we’re leaving so early that Starbucks isn’t even open and I had to get this shitty coffee from the crew room. I swear to God the second I see a flight attendant I’m going to lord my power over them and demand something not_ — _this. Fuck, it tastes like battery acid. I think. I assume. I don’t even know what to say. I’m too tired. Sorry for being grumpy. Love you.”_

The good morning videos started after that. By the time Derek was awake, Stiles was already well into his first or even second flight of the day. Derek had made one comment about wishing he could talk to him in the morning, and the next day he had a video message waiting for him, and the day after that, and the day after that. Every day that Stiles didn’t wake up in his bed and kiss him goodbye, he sent him a video.

Two and a half years later, Derek just wishes there weren't so damn many of them.

_“Good morning from Indianapolis, where the sunrise is pretty, but not as pretty as you.”_

_Stiles bats his eyelashes and laughs before he winks at the camera and pans it around to show the sky, planes silhouetted in front. He holds up a cup of coffee and shows it off before he takes a drink, tipping his head back with a pleased sigh. “Got my coffee_ — _iced, yes, it’s best iced even when it is 43 degrees outside_ — _so it’ll be a good day. Love you, babe.”_

“You just need to tell him,” Allison says, bending down and scooping up errant legos from the floor of her classroom. “How you two decided to try a real relationship and then completely ignored actually talking about your end goal for two years is beyond me. Tell him you want more.”

Derek sets his backpack on a table and starts helping her clean, wiping the tables down while she sorts what she needs for the next day. He’s once again grateful that he doesn’t teach primary; his fifth graders don’t need nearly as many supplies and thankfully make half the mess. “He likes his job,” he says, shrugging helplessly. “I spent some time last weekend looking at the regional airlines here and there aren’t many. There’s an opening in the Tri-Cities but he’d still have to fly back and forth.”

“I’m sorry, Derek,” Allison says, rubbing a hand on his arm and looking at him sympathetically. “I know you want this to work, but if you can’t tell him that, how is it ever going to?” She drops a handful of scrap paper in the recycling bin and turns back towards him, swinging her tote bag over her shoulder. “You want to come run Green Lake with me? We can go out for dinner afterwards. My treat.”

He nods and follows her out of the classroom, kisses her cheek when they part at their cars, and calls Stiles on his drive home. He’s in the air—Stiles doesn’t always tell him his exact schedule, but any time more than an hour passes between texts it’s a pretty good indication that he’s flying, and Derek hasn’t gotten a notification in three hours. He leaves a message, tells him about the staff meeting they’d had that afternoon, fills him in on some fifth grade gossip, and lets him know he’ll be with Allison for the rest of the night but to call when he can. Stiles’ easy acceptance of his relationship with Allison was one of the first things that made Derek realize he wanted something more; he loves Allison like a sister, and their friendship had been a point of contention in some of his other relationships. Stiles hadn’t ever seemed bothered by it, and it took Derek longer than he liked to admit to realize that Stiles just … trusted him.

Stiles had squinted at him over FaceTime when he mentioned it, eyeing Derek like he thought the whole idea was crazy. “I’m the one who’s in a different hotel room every night,” he’d pointed out. “You don’t worry about that, do you?”

Allison drags him around the lake twice—something Derek allows only because it gives her less time to lecture him on open and honest communication—but to his surprise she doesn’t say anything at all, just smiles at the camera when he pulls it out to take a picture of them and then a video of the water pushing gently at the shore of the lake to send to Stiles. It’s another reason he loves Allison best; Isaac makes fun of him mercilessly until even Boyd laughs and Erica spends her time trying to convince him to turn everything dirty, but Allison just smiles and helps out, taking videos of him when they go out together, sneaking pictures at school and practice for him to share. 

They race the last mile for dinner rights; Allison wins and chooses Mexican, and makes him walk another half-loop around the lake to cool down as they make their way to Rosita’s and collapse on the patio for margaritas and to eat their weight in burritos.

“Here,” she says when they sit down, sliding her phone across the table for him, open to Bumble. “Swipe for me. Everyone I choose is garbage.”

He checks his own phone one last time, trying not to worry when there’s no response from Stiles, and starts swiping—mostly left. He only slows down and starts to read the profiles once she kicks him under the table. “What about that last guy, Dean?”

“Said he was going out with his friends last night, got drunk, and sent me a picture of his junk,” she says, popping a chip in her mouth. “I sent him back a picture of a magnifying glass and blocked him.”

He makes a face and swipes left again. “How do you feel about ‘gym rat, sneakerhead’,” he asks with a snort, flashing the picture of the frat boy on the screen. “Your age filters are set too low.”

Allison’s cheeks flush when he looks over at her. “That’s—just swipe left and shut up, Derek.”

He thumbs to her filters and laughs. “Twenty-two, Ally? Come on.” He adjusts them up—no kid just out of college is going to be good enough for her—not that the new results are any better. “The guy you hate and grow to love, then love and grow to hate,” he reads off the screen, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, does this actually work?”

“Eh, half the people on here don’t read the profiles,” she says, shrugging. “Another drink?”

They stick around Rosita’s for another two hours, drinking slowly and sharing more than one dessert, making plans for the upcoming weekend. His phone finally buzzes on the table as they’re getting ready to go, popping up Stiles’ photo, and he glances up at her apologetically but she just nods and watches him with a smile as he answers. “Hey,” he says, pressing the phone to his ear as he pushes in his chair and makes sure his wallet is in his pocket.

“Hmmmpff,” Stiles mutters, and Derek hears him yawn. “Crew was late, flight delayed, phone died. Shuttle was late. Been up for eight hundred hours and now I’m gonna die. Just wanted to say goodnight.”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” he says quietly. “Get some sleep, we can talk tomorrow.”

“Yeah. You good?”

“Drank a little too much to drive so I’m trying to decide if I should Uber home or crash with Ally,” he says, looping his arm around Allison’s shoulders as they walk down the street. 

“Stay with Ally,” Stiles instructs. “Sleep on your side.”

He laughs. “I didn’t drink that much, Stiles. Get some sleep. I love you.” Stiles mutters it back and the line goes dead, and he looks over at Allison. “He said to stay with you.”

“Fine with me,” she says. They walk in silence for a few minutes, and as they’re turning off the main road and onto Allison’s street, she nudges against him. “I hate suggesting this because of what it means for me, but you know there’s another option, don’t you? You’ve been thinking of all the reasons he should move here, but Derek—you could always go to him.”

_“Good morning, Derek,” Stiles says brightly, sitting in the pilot’s seat in the cockpit. “It’s a cold and dreary day in Burlington, Vermont, but don’t worry, I’ve got your love to keep me warm.”_

_There’s a beat and a groan. “Did you really have to wait until I was around to witness this, Stilinski?”_

_“Anyway,” Stiles says loudly, “I’m counting down the hours until I see you. But like, metaphorically. I don’t know, Derek, I haven’t had a chance to drink my coffee yet_ — _” he lifts up the cup and salutes the screen with it, “_ — _so just pretend that makes sense. We’re heading out on the Norfolk, Richmond, D.C. hop today and we should get in pretty early, so I was gonna head to one of the museum gift shops and find something cool for your classroom. Have a good day. Love you.”_

“Just an elementary pool application in Beech Grove,” Allison says, making a note on a post-it and pressing it onto Derek’s notebook. She’d shown up to his classroom during her plan time and dropped a print-out on his desk that listed the steps to apply for certification in Indiana and told him she would help him start searching for jobs that night. So far they haven’t done much but make dinner and look up information on different school districts, but it’s a start, and one that Derek fees good about. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asks abruptly, then winces, looking away from her laptop and meeting his gaze. “No, don’t—I’m sorry. I swore to myself I’d be supportive. I’m sorry.”

“I’d rather not,” he admits, glancing up at her but returning his attention to the page he’s scrolling through. “But it's where he is, and if that’s what I have to do to get to see him a little more often, I’ll try it.”

Allison nods and reaches across the table to squeeze his hand. “You always have us,” she says, “just in case things don’t work out. You know I’d drop anything for you. I can fly out to Indiana and kick his ass if you need it.”

He shakes his head and makes another note on a post-it, putting it at the top of the list. “I know,” he says. A FaceTime notification pops up on the screen and he accepts it, sliding the computer so Stiles can see both of them.

“Hashtag blessed, look at all that supermodel beauty on my screen,” Stiles says, folding an arm behind his head as he grins and relaxes back onto the pillows. “How’s it going?”

“Your slang is incredibly outdated,” Allison says, raising her eyebrow and grinning. “Derek’s not keeping you up to date?”

Stiles rolls his entire head and snaps it back at the camera with a look. “Derek? Use slang? The world would end.”

Derek flips him off. “I figured you’d call earlier,” he says, ignoring the amused looks Allison and Stiles are giving each other. 

“Yeah well, just got to uh, Denver,” Stiles says, forehead creasing as he looks into the camera. “Had a bit of a snow delay.”

Derek frowns. “I thought you said you were in D.C. tonight,” he says, glancing over as Allison stands up and points towards the kitchen. 

Stiles frowns at him. “My route got changed, I deadheaded out here,” he says. “Anyway, what are you doing?”

He’s never heard of Stiles’ route being changed halfway through a trip, but he shrugs and holds up the notebook they’d been writing in. He hadn’t meant to talk to Stiles about it until he’d heard applied a few places, but maybe he should make sure it’s something Stiles is interested in before he goes any further. “Allison’s helping me look for a new job,” he says, looking closely at Stiles for his reaction, “in Indianapolis.”

Stiles’ face falls. “Oh,” he says, and Derek’s heart drops when he adds, “I heard that Indiana is pretty shitty for teachers, actually, so—no, Derek, don’t—don’t _look_ like that, I didn’t mean it like—”

“Can I talk to you in the morning?” he interrupts, already moving to end the call. “Sleep well.” Stiles calls back almost immediately, and after Derek’s rejected it three in a row, he turns his phone off.

He forgets that Stiles has Allison’s phone number until she walks out of the kitchen, phone in hand, and he hears Stiles’ voice burst out, “I just meant not Indiana! I didn’t mean not at _all_ , I just meant somewhere _else_ ,” and Allison gives Derek an unimpressed look.

“He heard you,” she says. “But I think his brain might be broken, so I’m going to let you go and beat some sense into him.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, “okay. Thanks, Allison, you’re a goddess. Derek—I love you. I swear. I just meant somewhere else. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

_“Good morning from me and my coffee to you and your bed, which I say because I completely forgot where I am. Who cares! Jackson can keep track of those uninteresting details, I’m just here to fly the plane and look pretty.” Stiles bats his eyelashes at the camera and grins. He waggles his coffee cup in front of the screen and elbows someone just out of the picture._

_“I’ll pour that shit over your head if you don’t knock it off.”_

_“Jackson’s still in the flirting by pulling pigtails stage in his_ — _ow!_ — _fuck you dude, this is my Derek video, get outta here_ — _sorry babe. Talk to you later today. Don’t expect too many texts, but I’ll call you as soon as I can. Love you.” He blows a kiss at the camera, and the video ends._

He cancels plans with Boyd that night at Stiles’ request, works out after school until he’s exhausted, and heads home with enough time to shower before they’re supposed to FaceTime. Allison had dropped by his classroom more than once to pinch his arm and tell him to take the doom-and-gloom look off his face; despite Stiles assurance the night before that he wasn’t opposed to the idea of living together—or even just in the same city, he’ll take whatever—Derek had worried about it for the rest of the night. He worried that Stiles was just trying to placate him, that it wasn’t something wanted; he worried that he was moving too fast, and he worried that maybe, after two and a half years, he was moving too slow and Stiles had already decided he didn’t want anything serious with Derek after all.

Then he worried that he was worrying too much, and Allison had rolled her eyes and shoved him into his bedroom, and told him to shut up and go to sleep.

Watching Stiles’ video in the morning was equal parts comforting and nerve wracking; it’s routine and steady, which Derek has always craved, but he can’t help be a little surprised that Stiles hadn’t mentioned anything about the night before. But Stiles had messaged him back as soon as Derek sent him a good morning text and had offered a long-distance date, so Derek had tried to put the whole thing out of his mind.

He’s just bringing up FaceTime when the doorbell rings, and Stiles connects right away, sprawled out on his stomach on a hotel bed. “Hey, babe,” he says, propping his chin up on his fist and grinning. “Get your dinner?”

Derek flips the phone to show him the bag sitting on the porch. “I didn’t expect this,” he says, a pleased, warm feeling spreading in his chest. “Figured I’d just order pizza later. Thanks.”

“Hey, I asked you on a date, I provide the food,” Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows. “It’s pasta—I got Italian, too, so it’s like we’re out—oh fuck I didn’t realize how cheesy and stupid that sounded until I said it. You wanna pick the movie and start it?”

Derek declines; they’ve done the live movie watching enough times over the past years that he knows better. Anything he chooses is met with a volley of arguments that take a half an hour to get through until he finally gives in and picks what Stiles had clearly wanted, so it’s just easier to skip that whole part. He’s surprised when Stiles chooses a documentary, though, and when he mentions he had been meaning to watch it, Stiles smiles at him like he knows.

He’ll watch it again, anyway—Stiles talks through movies and always has, and Derek kind of loves him for it. It’s a reminder that he’s there even if he’s not, that this isn’t an activity they’re doing in parallel; it’s something that keeps them together.

It’s not until after the second movie is over and Derek’s gotten ready for bed, brushing his teeth with his phone propped up against the soap dispenser as Stiles did the same in his hotel room, pulling his clothes off while Stiles doesn’t even try to hide the fact he’s watching, and crawling under the covers that he asks. 

“You sure you just meant not in Indiana?”

Stiles’ face softens as he rolls to his side, camera moving along with him. “Derek,” he says quietly, “I wouldn’t lie about that. I know we never really talked about it, but I just thought you knew that we were heading that way.”

He rolls on his side and presses the edge of the phone onto his pillow, pretends there’s not a country separating them. “I’m not very good at using words, sometimes,” he says, “but I guess I still need to hear them.”

Stiles’ hand reaches towards the screen, like he’s tracing his finger down the line of Derek’s face. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with you, Derek Hale. You wait and see.”

_“Good morning from the Starbucks in Concourse B_ — _” he holds his coffee up to his cheek and pretends to swoon before he takes a drink and looks back at the camera. “With any luck I will never have to fly to Iowa again, because it’s April and there’s snow on the ground. Snow. Derek. Snow. I can’t deal with this shit.”_

 _He looks past the phone and pushes through a door, pans the camera around to show off the crew room. “Oh fuck yes, there’s an open recliner. I’ve got another hour before we start pre-flight so I’m gonna sit here and drink my coffee_ — _” another drink, cup tipped towards the camera afterwards, “and try to finish that book I picked up in Vermont. But first_ — _if you haven’t figured it out_ — _rewatch the last four videos I sent you and try to find the hidden message. I’ll be home late tonight; hope you get it by then. Love you!”_

The sun is setting as he lays back on the blanket that Allison had set out on the sand, stretching his feet towards the fire that’s steadily getting bigger in the firepit. “Can we eat yet?”

“No,” Allison says, flopping down next to him. “Be patient, Derek. I don’t care about the food, I want to figure out what the hell this hidden message is.” Allison had been more excited than he was when he played her the video; she’d always loved puzzles and mysteries, and he was sure she’d figure it out quickly. He’d been wrong; they’ve been at Golden Gardens for an hour and so far the only thing they’ve done is tracked Stiles’ flights across the country, looking for hidden messages in airport codes, listened for any background announcements, and argued about whether or not he would plan out his words beforehand to make sure the first letter of each sentence spelled something.

“I care about the food,” he grumbles, peeking out at her from under the arm he’d thrown across his eyes. It’s April and still cold enough that he’s wearing a hoodie over his long-sleeve shirt, but the sun is bright as it sets across the Sound. “Stiles might write down a script but you know him, he’d never stick to it.”

“Maybe the first word in every sentence,” she says, completely ignoring him. 

“Maybe there are letters on the buildings,” he says, because seriously, Stiles would never be able to keep that up for four days.

“Maybe it’s about the times he sent them,” Allison says, tapping on the first video again.

“Maybe it’s about the coffee cups,” someone says behind them, and Derek almost kicks his backpack into the fire as he sits up and twists around to see Stiles behind them, hands in his pockets, smiling nervously. “Hey, babe.”

“You’re early,” he says, reaching up for him and wrapping a hand around Stiles’ wrist when he gets close enough, tugging him down. Stiles lands awkwardly on his knees, yanking his hands out of his pocket as he flails and nearly falls into Derek’s lap. Derek wraps an arm around Stiles’ waist to steady him, cups his other hand around his cheek and pulls him in. He breathes him in for just a moment, the familiar smell of his sandalwood shampoo, the slightly bitter scent of coffee still on his breath before he kisses him, sliding a hand around to the back of his neck to hold him there.

“Couldn’t wait,” Stiles breathes against his mouth, and Derek kisses him again, ignoring Allison’s sharp intake of breath behind him. “Derek. Go watch your videos.”

“Just tell me,” he says, breaking away only far enough to lean their foreheads together. 

“Come on, I worked hard on those,” Stiles says, and he sits up and away from Derek. “Humor me.”

Derek can’t help the frustrated noise, and he barely has to reach back before Allison is pressing his phone into his hand, open to the first video. He waits until Stiles brings the cup into the scene and pauses it, scanning it quickly for anything different. It’s the typical Starbucks cup—different than he usually drinks, which Derek only knows because Stiles is insistent that black coffee is the way to go, and this one is mostly tan. The name is wrong, too—it’s got _Will_ scrawled on the side, and Derek hasn’t heard of a coworker named Will but it wouldn’t be the first time Stiles had stolen someone else’s coffee.

He slides to the second video, watches until Stiles salutes the camera with the cup, and doesn’t have to pause to catch the _you_ written on the side, and his heart starts to beat a little faster. He looks up at Stiles, but Stiles is looking straight down at the sand, hands jammed into his hoodie pockets.

The third cup says _marry_ , and Derek drops the phone onto the blanket and pulls Stiles into him, burying his face in the curve of Stiles’ neck. “Yes,” he says, pressing kiss after kiss into his skin. “Yes, _yes_ , I can’t believe you didn’t cave and tell me on the first day.”

Stiles squeezes him, wrapping his arms around Derek and tackling him backwards. “I lied to you,” he says, breathless, and before Derek can say anything else he says, “I filmed all those before, all in one day—I quit my job. Well,” he says, sitting up and trying to pull Derek with him, “I got a new job. With Alaska—based in Seattle. They had an opening a few months ago and I applied—I didn’t say anything because I figured I didn’t have a chance, but they called me last month and offered me the job. I start in two weeks.”

_“Good morning from Seattle,” he says, just his nose and eyes visible in the video, lit up by the screen, “where we will not be leaving this bed until you have to go to work on Monday. Love you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable tumblr link](https://elisela.tumblr.com/post/641384467357974528/good-morning-from-me-to-you-sterek-6k-so-much) :)


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